


this might as well happen

by theblobfishwrites



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Can be read as gen, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Reconciliation, but know that I ship them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblobfishwrites/pseuds/theblobfishwrites
Summary: "You know those days when you're like, this might as well happen"- Jaskier, Half a Century of Poetry
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 186





	this might as well happen

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just wake up and you're like "I gotta write a tavern brawl"

Jaskier hums on his way to the inn. Restocking his supplies at the market drained him of most of his funds, but he made a good deal with the innkeeper earlier in the day: If he plays in the evening to draw in more patrons, he won't have to pay for the lunch he had earlier and also gets to stay the night for free. That means no camping in the wilderness, and maybe he'll even make a bit of coin with his performance. 

He pauses for a moment just outside the establishment's door. There's a lot of noise coming from inside. Good, a full house. He takes a deep breath and prepares to make a flourished entrance, when suddenly there's a loud bang, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass.

Jaskier gapes at the burly but dazed man that is suddenly lying next to him in the middle of the road. 

With a man-shaped hole in the window, the sounds coming from inside become more distinguishable. There's lots of yelling, cursing and grunting. Not a full house then, a bar fight. 

The man that flew out of the window scrambles to his feet and staggers around the corner of the building. Jaskier can only guess if he's getting away from the fight or sneaking around the back door to join back in and get the drop on someone.

Jaskier sighs, forgoes the dramatic entrance, and simply walks through the door. Maybe he can still salvage the evening somehow. 

Inside there's pure chaos. Tables are toppled over and the floor is littered with shards of glass and broken furniture. A tankard flies past Jaskier and shatters against the wall behind him. He glares at the innkeeper crouching behind the bar, who shrugs apologetically before hurling another tankard at the main commotion in the centre of the room. 

Surrounded by a handful of patrons, who are in the process of getting back to their feet, stands a man, hunched over and with his back to Jaskier. Draped over him and clinging to his broad shoulders are not one, not two, but an entirety of three men, trying to take him down with their weight. 

The man grunts with effort, but despite the attackers' best attempts, remains standing. 

Other than that, the bar is empty. Anyone who isn't participating in the fight must have been sane enough to flee the premises. 

Jaskier circles around the brawl in a wide arch and heads towards the back of the room, where there's less of a chance for a stray projectile from the innkeeper to hit him. 

Trusting that the less belligerent part of the population will return once the fight is over, Jaskier starts preparing for his performance. This isn't the first bar brawl that he's witnessing, after all, and since it's several people against one, the fight shouldn't take too long. 

He puts his lute to the side and turns one of the tables right-side up again, before pushing it into the corner to serve as a makeshift stage.

Behind him, he can hear another grunt turning into a growl, and then the surprised yelps of the three men that were clinging on to the man in their middle. He has thrown them off, then. 

Jaskier can't help being impressed, even though he's rooting for the other guys. After all, if the lone fighter wins, he's likely going to leave and lick his wounds in peace somewhere. If the group of attackers wins, they might just celebrate their victory right here and that means loose coin purses for a humble bard. 

Curious to see what's happening, Jaskier abandons his attempts at preparing a stage and turns around. 

Several of the attackers strewn about the room are scrambling to their feet, while the lone fighter is standing upright now, but once again has his back to Jaskier. 

Jaskier doesn't need to see the stranger's face to recognize him, though. Such battle prowess, combined with shoulder-length snow white hair leaves only one conclusion. Jaskier’s stomach drops through the wooden planks of the floor beneath him. 

It has been a while since he's last seen Geralt of Rivia. And that last time Geralt told him in no uncertain terms, that he never wanted to see Jaskier again. 

He swallows down the lump that’s forming in his throat. Maybe he should just run out the back door, pretend like he was never here. It would mean abandoning his chance at a comfortable bed for the night, but compared to facing the fury of the White Wolf a second time, that's hardly a concern. Running with his tail between his legs is definitely the preferable option. 

In that moment, Geralt turns around and their eyes meet. 

The way Geralt's eyes grow wide with surprise is almost comical. He opens his mouth, most likely to tell Jaskier just how exactly this bar fight is his fault as well for some reason, but before the Witcher can say anything a fist connects with his jaw. Some of the attackers have recovered and Geralt's attention is occupied by the fight again. 

Jaskier runs a hand down his face. He suddenly feels very tired and exhausted. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He's a master of the seven liberal arts, but this particular situation wasn't covered in any of the classes he took in Oxenfurt. 

Geralt is holding his ground remarkably well, given that he's facing off against several people, who all rival him in terms of pure bulk. Judging by their simple, worn out clothes and the deep tan on their faces they're probably local farmers who decided to pick a fight with the stranger in their midst.

They keep circling Geralt and attacking from all sides, making it hard for Geralt to get a good hit in and, while he manages to dodge or block most of the punches thrown at him, it's only a matter of time before one of them gets lucky. 

Jaskier glances around the room and spots two large swords in intricately embroidered sheaths resting on one of the few tables in the room that haven't been toppled over. On the bench next to them lies an assortment of pitch black pieces of leather armor. Geralt must have left his weapons behind on purpose when the locals decided to pick a fight, so that he wouldn't accidentally kill them. It's just like the stupid Witcher to put himself in danger like that, unarmed and outnumbered. 

"Well, shit," Jaskier announces to no one in particular and picks up his lute again. He makes his way to the innkeeper, who's half standing, half kneeling behind the protection of the bar counter. 

"Protect her with your life!" Jaskier orders as he shoves his lute into the man's arms. He seemed to be rather impressed by the craftsmanship of Jaskier’s greatest treasure earlier today. Jaskier can only hope that his beloved won't end up as another projectile being thrown across the room, but behind the bar seems to be the safest place for her right now. 

Then Jaskier turns around and throws himself into the mess of tangled limbs at the center of the room. 

He pushes his elbow into the belly of the nearest guy, then shoves another attacker backwards, away from Geralt. Before Jaskier can follow that up with a kick to the guy’s groin, as he had planned, a fist hits him square in his face. For a moment he only sees stars blinking in front of his eyes. The guy he hit first must have recovered faster than Jaskier anticipated. 

Before he can gather himself, another punch hits him in the stomach, pressing all the air from his lungs. He stumbles backwards, his vision somewhat dizzy, and trips over his own feet.

Just great. 

A pair of strong arms catches him under his shoulders. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Geralt growls, his snarling face hovering above Jaskier. "Stay out of-" 

"Woah!" Jaskier cuts him off and raises his arms above his head so that he slips through Geralt's grip and falls to the floor. The punch that was intended for Jaskier’s face hits Geralt in the stomach instead. Whoops. 

Jaskier feels anger surging through him at Geralt's dismissive comment about his help. 

Jaskier can hold his own in a fight, thank you very much! Geralt has taught him a thing or two when they were still traveling together, and he gets good practice whenever a comment of unconstructive criticism about his singing particularly upsets him. Which may have happened particularly frequently in the first couple of weeks after Geralt sent him away. He wasn't in his best condition then. Either way, he certainly has practice with fights like this! 

Jaskier crawls away from Geralt and the farmer holding him in a headlock now - eh, he'll be fine, Jaskier thinks - before he scrambles to his feet. 

He allows himself a moment to gather his bearings and straighten out his doublet, when two of the farmers notice him and come charging at him, fists raised. Jaskier sighs and ducks underneath their blows. 

From his crouched position, he uses their momentum against them and lifts their legs out from under them. 

With a surprised yelp, the two farmers fall over forward and disappear behind the bar counter. 

Jaskier only has time to be smug for a short moment. Suddenly, he remembers that he left his lute behind the bar and the triumphant grin falls off his face. 

He's halfway ready to dive behind the bar himself, when he notices one of the farmers sneaking up behind Geralt. The bastard is holding an upside-down chair up high, clearly intending to break it over Geralt's head. 

Geralt has only just managed to free himself from the headlock and is busy keeping two other farmers at bay. He doesn't seem to have noticed the threat behind him. 

Jaskier hesitates for a moment, then rushes forward and tackles the asshole with the chair. 

They both tumble to the floor, Jaskier on top of the perpetrator. He quickly sits up and shifts his weight so that he's pinning the guy to the floor. The farmer curses and tries to push Jaskier’s knees off of his arms, but Jaskier manages to stay on top. 

There's a joke about Jaskier’s bedroom exploits in here somewhere, but the worry for his lute doesn't leave him at the height of his wits. 

"Fucking cheater!" is all he manages to yell as he brings down his fist on the farmer's temple. The man's arms go limp and his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Jaskier glances over his shoulder, ready to take on the next attacker, but the only one left standing is Geralt, with several bastards lying unconscious at his feet. 

"I didn't need your help!" Geralt scowls as he reaches out a hand towards Jaskier. 

Jaskier grabs it. 

He lets Geralt pull him to his feet. 

He bends his upper body backwards. 

He slams his forehead against Geralt's face. 

Geralt stumbles backwards, a look of utter bafflement on his face. 

"What the fuck, Jaskier?" he huffs, voice muffled by the hand he has clasped over his nose protectively. There's blood trickling down his fingers. 

Jaskier allows himself a satisfied nod, ignoring the intense pain flaring up between his temples, before he turns around to the innkeeper who's still ducked behind the bar. 

His lute, thank the gods, is unharmed and safely leaning in the corner. Jaskier takes it back and reaches for his nearly empty coin purse. 

"I don't think your audience will be in much of a mood for my music tonight, so I guess our agreement won't work out. What do I owe you for the food earlier?" 

"Is your friend going to cause more trouble?" the innkeeper asks cautiously. 

"I'm sure he's dying to inform you that I'm not his friend," Jaskier replies solemnly. "But from my experience with him, he probably wasn't the one who caused the trouble." 

"Maybe so," the innkeeper admits reluctantly. "Guess it ain't your fault either, that you didn't get to play. You got balls, kid! Keep your money."

"Much obliged, good sir!" Jaskier returns with a flourished bow. 

"You should take the Witcher and get out of town before these guys wake up again, though," the innkeeper adds. 

"Oh, we're well aware of that!" Jaskier ensures and turns back around to Geralt. He's still standing in the same spot in the middle of the room, carefully poking at his bloody nose with a look of utter disbelief on his face. 

Jaskier shrugs and heads out the back door. 

There's nothing to talk about, after all. Geralt has said his piece in front of the dragon lair several months ago, and Jaskier isn't in the mood for a repetition. 

He makes his way towards the edge of the village, but stops a short way down the road, next to a small puddle. Courtesy of last night's unexpected rain shower. Jaskier’s bedroll is still damp and he was really looking forward to a night at an inn room. That's what he gets for trying to help someone who couldn't care less about him. 

Jaskier bends forward and checks out his reflection in the water. He's got a split lip and a red spot on his forehead where he hit Geralt, in addition to the bruise starting to form under his left eye.

"Could be worse," he determines after a moment of consideration. 

"Could not have happened at all," says Geralt's gravelly voice from behind him and Jaskier flinches. Fucking Witchers and their silent sneaking! 

He doesn't bother answering and continues examining the bruises on his reflection. He might be able to cover up the black eye with a bit of makeup. Or maybe he'll leave it. He does look rather daring with it. 

"You are my friend though, just so you know," Geralt adds sheepishly after a moment of silence. "That is, if you still want to be." 

"I don't know, Geralt," Jaskier tells his reflection, still not turning around. "You've been very clear about what you think of my company." 

There's a long silence. Jaskier is half convinced that Geralt simply left on silent soles again. Then, almost too quiet to make out, he hears: "I'm sorry." 

"Pardon, what was that?" Jaskier snaps and finally spins around, his hands curled into fists by his side. "You'll have to speak up, I think there's some shit stuck in my ear. All that shoveling, you know!" 

Geralt was anxiously staring at the ground, but at Jaskier’s outburst he looks up. The serious look on his face is further emphasized by the dried blood on the lower half of his face. 

"I'm sorry," Geralt repeats, louder and determined. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. It was unjustified and nowhere near true." 

The words sound a little wooden. Almost like Geralt has repeated them over and over for practice. 

"That's…not what I expected, to be honest," Jaskier replies, dumbfounded. He'd been so certain that Geralt hated his guts and wouldn't want anything to do with him ever again. It's not like he's been particularly appreciative of Jaskier, even before the events of the dragon hunt. 

As if he read his mind, Geralt adds: "I've always taken you for granted, I shouldn't have done that. I regret losing the privilege of your company." 

The words still sound mechanical, and far too proper for Geralt's usual way of speaking, not that there's a lot of that happening to begin with. Someone has clearly helped Geralt formulate his apology in advance. Jaskier wonders who that might have been and he feels his anger melt away at the realisation how much effort Geralt put into this. 

"Oh, that's uhm, good," he presses out, not quite certain how to reply properly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too." 

Geralt's face softens and his posture relaxes. He must have been quite anxious about Jaskier’s reply. 

"Sorry for the nose?" Geralt asks. "It'll heal, it's not even broken." 

"No, that I'm actually rather proud of," Jaskier muses. "But there may be some, uhm, not quite so flattering songs making the rounds on the Continent. In my defence, I didn't expect that you would apologise!" 

"Hmm," Geralt growls threateningly. But the lopsided grin that's forming on his mouth tells Jaskier that he's not in too much trouble. 

"They've gotten rather popular at Kaer Morhen," Geralt adds. " _ The White Wolf is an ass _ is Ciri's favorite." 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated! Thank you~  
> Say hi on [tumblr](https://justablobfish.tumblr.com/), if you want!


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